


Secondhand Smoke

by seijuro



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Detective AU, Detective Nijimura, Future Fic, M/M, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seijuro/pseuds/seijuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As if remembering that he was here for business and not to remember old memories or make new ones, he leaned forward. Nijimura noticed his eyebrows furrowing and the familiar slant of his mouth, and found himself remembering that Akashi did that when he was either concentrating or upset. He never had the time to figure out which was which. </p><p>“I believe… I believe there is someone after my life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> requested by an anon and crossposted from bps @ tumblr! (still) (im sorry)
> 
> i don't plan on continuing this because i don't have any idea where i'd go with this but if i do manage to gain inspiration, ideas, and motivation, something will probably happen! probably

The first time he saw Akashi in years was in a cafe. It could have been a coincidence, of course, but nothing was  _ever_  a coincidence when it came to Akashi Seijuurou. Nijimura of all people should have known. Upon seeing Nijimura, his mood seemed to almost brighten, but it wasn’t enough for Nijimura not to notice the dark under his eyes and how his hands seemed to shake around the briefcase they held.

“Nijimura,” Akashi said, sliding into the seat across from him. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

There he went again, stating the obvious. Nijimura straightened his back and took a sip out of the coffee—bitter and tasteless, he noted. “Years,” he agreed. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Akashi said, but Nijimura could see how he was staring off into nearly open space, could see only a thin layer of the trouble Akashi was probably knee-deep in. Akashi didn’t normally lie unless he believed whoever he was speaking to wasn’t in any place to know. Something about that was funny. “I could be better, but I’m glad to see you.”

 _Glad to see me_ , Nijimura thought.  _Even though you haven’t bothered to keep contact with me for months._ “Likewise,” he said, making a point to lie through his teeth.

If he stared long enough, he could see a ghost of the boy he left behind in Teikou. He hardly kept up with any of them anymore and they he, but it was no surprise Akashi had grown up (grown up?) and gone off and become  _someone._

“I require your assistance with something,” Akashi said, cutting right to the chase. He’d always admired how direct Akashi was. The wind chimes rang and then fell silent when someone else entered the cafe, and Akashi nearly jumped. Nijimura couldn’t help but note how uncharacteristic that was of him.

“Alright,” Nijimura said, sliding a business card towards him. “I’m assuming you know how these arrangements work.”

Did he miss Akashi, or did he miss what Akashi could have been? He was walking a thin line, and there was no guarantee what the consequences would be if he fell. It only made sense—between the years and the distance between them, there was no way they’d be able to continue as they were. The last time Nijimura had seen Akashi was during Akashi’s second year in high school, and he’d been met with someone entirely different than the boy he remembered. It was alright; people changed.

“Yes,” Akashi said. Nijimura didn’t miss how his eyes were darting around the room, as if he was waiting for something awful, but it wasn’t any of his business until he was getting paid for it. Akashi had always been a private person; it was safer that way. “I didn’t think you would choose to become a…detective. An interesting line of work.”

Nijimura felt his fingers itch for a cigarette and instead took another sip of the awful coffee. “Can’t say the same for you. I’m sure we all kind of knew where you were going in life.”

Akashi smiled, but it was almost sad. “I suppose.” As if remembering that he was here for business and not to remember old memories or make new ones, he leaned forward. Nijimura noticed his eyebrows furrowing and the familiar slant of his mouth, and found himself remembering that Akashi did that when he was either concentrating or upset. He never had the time to figure out which was which. “I believe… I believe there is someone after my life.” When he looked back at Nijimura, he was calm.

Everyone had feelings, Nijimura reasoned. Some were just better at hiding them. “Alright,” he said, trying to ignore the freeze Akashi’s words sent running through his veins. “You’re successful and young, right? It makes sense. Do you have any specific reasons why you think so?”

Akashi’s hands tightened around the cup and he had to let go. Breathing out, he lowered his voice. “It’s just something I can  _feel_ , I hope you’re aware. Last week I laid off one-fifth of the company’s employees.”

Nijimura thought of his father bound and dying to a hospital bed, thought of his unemployed mother, thought of the siblings who couldn’t pull their own weight and didn’t have anyone to do it for them. He thought of the day his father came home from work and never went back. It, too, made sense. Business, like most things, was a game, and Akashi was playing to win, no matter the cost. “You think that’s enough for someone to want your head?”

Akashi hesitated. The hands he’d folded in his lap were beginning to clench and unclench themselves in what Nijimura assumed was a feeble attempt at calming himself down. “You see, there’s more to it than that.”

There always was. He was Akashi Seijuurou, anyway. Nijimura glanced at his watch, and the minute-hand seemed to move with the wind-chimes. The door opened and closed again. Akashi’s eyes looked blow, wide, unseeing. “Do you want to elaborate?” Nijimura said.

Akashi wasn’t looking at him when he said, “Perhaps at a later time.” Standing up, he gathered his things, and shaking hands moved to adjust his tie.  _Of course._  “I’ll give you a call.” For the first time in a while, he smiled at Nijimura. He could see right through it. He always could.

“Fair enough.” He really,  _really_  needed a cigarette, but going outside for a smoke just wasn’t worth it. “Another thing,” Nijimura called.

Akashi stopped, halfway to the door. When the light was right, he still looked fifteen. Nijimura was no fool. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to talk to me like…like  _that_  anymore. You know we’re not how or who we used to be.” He looked Akashi straight in the eye. “I’m not your captain anymore, yeah?”  _Don’t act like nothing’s changed,_ he said without words. Akashi understood; Akashi always did. If he was taken aback, he did not show it.

“But of course,” he said, and left. Nijimura sat in the near-quiet as the wind-chimes announced his departure.

He never saw Akashi again.

*

Nijimura spent the night with a cigarette (or two, or three—by that time he stopped counting, and by that time it stopped mattering) and the low hum of the fan beside his bed. The apartment felt large and empty without the mess that was usually on the floor. Nijimura once more thought of his siblings and how they used to leave a trail of toys from his room to theirs. They were perfectly capable of picking up after themselves, but didn’t seem to think it was worth pissing their older brother off. Thinking about them was like a punch to the gut. Thinking about anything was like a punch to the gut. Everything was easier in middle school, easier when the most he had to worry about was whether or not they’d win the game, and whether or not Haizaki would show up to practice. In a way, he missed the simpler days, and what they were before they heralded his father’s death.

Disgusted with himself, Nijimura dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and buried his face into his pillow. It smelled like smoke—everything did after a while. He needed new candles. There was no point in thinking about things he missed that could and would no longer be his. It was Akashi’s fault. Akashi was a living, breathing reminder of both what was and what would be, and Nijimura hated him for it. Akashi was no storm, but he brought awful memories with him all the same. Nijimura wished he could pinpoint the exact moment where everything and anything began to spiral out of control. Somehow, the smoke gave way for the smell of Akashi’s expensive cologne. He wanted to claw at his skin until Akashi was gone. He wanted to hit something, and the wall was beginning to look like a very tempting option.

The last time he’d held a proper conversation with Akashi—the last time he’d been just Nijimura and Akashi had just been Akashi was middle school. It was always middle school; the Akashi he’d returned to see bearing Rakuzan’s crown and weight wasn’t Akashi at all. Nijimura couldn’t exactly remember what they were saying, but when the memories played themselves back, he could remember Akashi’s face: a cross between troubled and guarded. He did not bother to smile, not when it was a goodbye without the promise of a greeting. Remembering it was like looking at a ghost, and the more he thought about it, the more he could see the Akashi he remembered in the Akashi who’d confronted him in the cafe. He had yet to see if that was a good or bad thing. Nijimura couldn’t remember if he’d looked back the first time he left.

Nijimura grabbed his phone. Akashi’s number was still in there, but he’d long since changed the contact name from ‘Sei’ to ‘Akashi’. It made things easier, made things less personal. It was his job, not an obligation. Against all better judgment, he sent Akashi a text.

_Were you mad at me for leaving?_

The phone blinked, and the label on the messages said read. Nijimura sat there for a few more minutes until the answer he was waiting for never arrived.  _Probably thinking_ , he thought, of the answer  _that’d let him get the most out of this._

He threw his phone against the wall.

*

Akashi did not end up giving him a call. Nijimura would have been lying if he wasn’t worried, but it was an ingrained reaction. Akashi was, after all, an old friend. Or was that the wrong word for it? Nijimura didn’t care.

By the time daylight fell and evening rose, he pulled his coat on and started making his way to Akashi’s house. It was hard to miss, as Akashi himself often was. Beyond the house itself, Nijimura noticed the strings of yellow police tape and the very faint wail of police sirens.

( _god no no no no_  GOD NO—)

He didn’t notice when he began to run, but by the time he made it to the house, his chest and eyes were burning.

(It was a joke. It was a joke. It was a joke. Something else happened. Someone else happened. Akashi was fine.)

There was a group of people crowded around the police. One of the policemen locked eyes with Nijimura and approached him. It took a few minutes for him to recognize it was Aomine.

(It wasn’t.)

“Akashi,” Nijimura said, eyes scanning the crowd. He saw Kuroko, Midorima, Kise, Murasakibara, and Momoi. Momoi was crying. “Where is Akashi?”


End file.
